


One Way

by DarkSide (Dark_Side)



Series: Salt in the open wounds [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fights, Gen, Post-Hell Dean Winchester, Rage, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 00:02:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17735180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Side/pseuds/DarkSide
Summary: Dean finds out that Sam as started again with drinking demon blood and he is angry.Memories of Hell are destroying his sanity.Narration: Second person PoV (Dean)





	One Way

**Author's Note:**

> Well, small disclaimer: Supernatual and ita characters are not mine, and I'm writing just for fun.  
> I'm not English native speaker and this goes unbeta'ed, so all mistakes are mine and I'm sorry for them.

**One way**

 

 _I see nothing in your eyes_  
_and the more I see, the less I like._  
[...]  
_I know nothing of your kind_  
_and I won’t reveal your evil mind._

_\- Breaking Benjamin,  
Breath_

 

You are screaming now, your words pierce the air and cut deep in his skin. You do not even know what you are saying and you do not care. You may be crying, screaming, kicking, killing, everything and anything would be right at this moment, while you let go of all you have bottled up inside your chest.  
You do not even know if you are able to breath right know. You feel the craving need of letting go and be exhausted for a while. Almost dead to the world for a while. You do not care if he likes it or not. He does not deserve to speak, complain or cry in front of you. You may kill him right now and he has no right to defend himself from you. He cannot, he should not, not after all this time. Not after all you have given up for him and asked nothing for yourself. He should only shut up and stay there where he is, while you let go.

“How dare you? What do you want more? Haven’t I given you enough?” You scream, yell, raise your hands almost on him, but not yet. You cannot bring yourself to hit him, even though it would be so _right_ , so _fair_ to do it right now. You feel the craving need of carving, hitting, kicking, _hurting_ that you have kept locked up for so long. You need to let go of it. Screaming, yelling, drinking – all perfect ways to let go and keep both of you safe.  
“Have you learnt nothing? Have you forgotten what _they_ have done to our family, to _us_?” You scream, try to hurt him the way you want with the little things you have.  
Unwanted memories come back from the pit where you have locked them away and the craving need whispers in your ears, fantasies of possible things you could do flash in your mind and they are all so tempting, you do think about turning them into reality.

You still have your gun in the back of your trousers, you could shoot him in a leg and watch his stupefied, terrified and guilty eyes, while he holds his leg and grits his teeth not to scream.

You could tackle him on the ground, punch his face and break his nose and keep hitting till there is only blood and he cannot speak nor eat anymore.

You could tie him to the chair, arms bent behind his back, and tear apart his clothes and use everything you want on him.

You could do thousand things to make him hurt and unleash the raging, rampant fire you have suppressed for so long.  
You could kill him and keep hurting his corpse to let go of all you have inside.

You keep screaming, accusing, asking questions to which you do not want the answers. You say all the filthy, despicable, unspeakable words that will hurt him, but they are not enough.  
“What am I supposed to do with you now? What are you? I’m not even sure you’re my brother. Were you a monster, I would have already killed you.”  
Those words are slightly satisfying. Hurting him feels good and fair, while your hell-rage feasts on those words and that pain. It is good, but not enough.  
You should hurt him physically. You should put your hands on him and unleash those memories that do not let you sleep and make you jumpy and unstable. You should put your hands on him and take your time to take him apart and make him cry, scream, beg. You would breath free once more. You would feel raw and pure and have some peace.  
It is his fault. It is all his fault that you are so unstable and dangerous, for the fire in your blood asking for his screams and pain. It is all his fault if you cannot feel well anymore.

You scream to him, let your rage have some way out before you cannot keep it inside anymore, and you hit him. There is blood on your fist and he looks in shock at you. His nose is bleeding and you smile, the voice in your head sings for more, the smell of his blood turns the motel room into Hell.  
You hit him again and throw him on the floor. He tries to protect himself and does not hit you back, but you growl and scream, spit your pain and hatred on him, and he stops.  
He stops deflecting your hits, but covers his stomach and his face. He lays still under your rage and takes it in, tears soaking the dirty carpet of the cheap motel room. He cries but takes your rage in.  
It is all his fault. He knows it and you enjoy the way he takes his punishment.  
It is Hell again, hot, sweaty and dirty, the smell of demons swirling on your skin and your memories echo happily and pure before your eyes.  
His face is a mess of blood and tears and your hands tighten on his throat. That is when he moves again. His warm hands cover yours and he looks at you. He does not beg nor plead for mercy. He knows how you could turn this around. He knows you could go on tightening your grip on him and never let go. He knows you could kill him and he waits for you to choose. He is fine with whatever you are going to do.

He smiles, tentatively, tears fall from the corner of his eyes and you know he is fine with this end. You tighten your grips on him and you see and feel him choking. His body starts moving, fighting back to get free and breath, but his hands does not move from yours. He tights them on your hands as if he wants to help you choking him. You choke him a little more, then you let him go.

His breathing is ragged and fast and you keep him on the floor. Your hands are still around his neck, but they are loose. You are still threatening him, in the futile hope he understands you are not done yet. His hands are still on yours and he does not protest for the harsh treatment. He only breathes as much air as he can and does not dare moving.

You raise to your feet and fetch some whiskey to drink only when his breathing is normal again. You do not offer him a sip as you drink from the bottle. You have not let go of everything. The voices and memories in your mind scream furiously because you have not freed them.  
You do not look at him as he slowly sits on the floor and stands up. You can feel his eyes on you, checking your intentions, but you do not give him any hints. He stands still for a while and when he is sure you are not going to take another swing at him, he walks slowly to the bathroom.  
Before he can close the door and start patching the disaster you have done, you speak again. This time your voice is calm.  
“You have to fight against it. Or I don’t know how to save you.”  
He nods, you do not see him for your back is turned to him.  
He slips in the bathroom and close the door silently, but he does not lock it. While the shower starts and the sound of the falling water is all you can hear, you drink the voices in your mind away.  
_Don’t make me kill you. I cannot._

 

 _You take the breath right out of me_  
_you left a hole where my heart should be_  
_you gotta fight just to make it through_  
_‘cause I will be the death of you._

_\- Breaking Benjamin,  
Breath_

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone who read this far!  
> Hope you enjoyed this short fanfiction.  
> Let me know if you liked it or not in comments, your words would be truly helpful for me.  
> Bye!


End file.
